


bound by hurt dissolved

by missymeggins



Category: UnREAL (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:47:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23577154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missymeggins/pseuds/missymeggins
Summary: It starts the night Rachel crawls into her lap.They stay that way for hours, even after Quinn’s legs have gone to sleep and her hip aches to shift position and her wrist is sore from the angle she holds it in order to keep stroking Rachel’s hair.
Relationships: Rachel Goldberg/Quinn King
Comments: 8
Kudos: 50





	bound by hurt dissolved

It starts the night Rachel crawls into her lap. 

They stay that way for hours, even after Quinn’s legs have gone to sleep and her hip aches to shift position and her wrist is sore from the angle she holds it in order to keep stroking Rachel’s hair. 

And the whole time she does Rachel doesn’t move or speak and that should scare Quinn more than anything. She’s seen Rachel break down before but this is a new level of broken and she doesn't know what to do. 

But what actually scares her the most is the way this moment threatens to unravel her because she wants to cry, feels herself on the verge of it the entire time she’s touching Rachel and she has no idea what to do with that reality. 

Eventually Rachel sits up, refusing to look Quinn in the eye as all she says is a quiet, “I’m sorry,” and leaves. 

So Quinn does what Quinn always does. She shakes it off, blinks back what she refuses to acknowledge as tears and pours herself another drink before making her way home to a bed that suddenly feels incredibly empty. 

The next day Quinn finds herself going out of her way to accost Dr Simon, declaring that Rachel must be falling apart because they don’t touch each other. 

The actual truth is Quinn’s falling apart because apparently they’ve started. 

(And she doesn’t want to stop.)

Rachel’s behaviour on set becomes a pendulum; she swings between manically declaring how fine she is and lying in her trailer practically comatose. 

But she doesn’t crawl into Quinn’s lap again and frankly Quinn has no idea whether that’s a good thing or not. She briefly considers consulting Dr Simon but when she gets down to it she just doesn’t trust him. Like every other psychiatrist they’ve had on set (like Dr Goldberg before all of them) he sees Rachel as a diagnosis to be treated, and none of the actual person underneath that.

(Sometimes Quinn feels like she’s the only person who sees Rachel as more than just a collection of symptoms. There may be cracks running through her but they make her no less whole. She’s imperfect but she’s real and Quinn has always been able to see that. She’s not sure anyone else really does.)

It’s not like this is new exactly, Quinn has watched Rachel go to this dark place before, more than once, but through crashed cars and dead contestants she’s always come through it, so Quinn tells herself it’s just one more wave to ride. The problem is, while she’s (half) sure that _Rachel_ can ride this out again, there’s a sick feeling in the pit of Quinn’s stomach that makes her wonder if she can. She wants to close her eyes against Rachel’s dirty hair and blank stare; against the way they pull memories of Rachel’s tears, of Rachel’s voice begging Adam to tell her what was wrong with her, why she was so unloveable. 

She wants to block it all out, be exactly as cold and numb as people say she is. If Quinn had a mantra it would be something along the lines of _feelings are the trap that gets you nowhere in life_. And Quinn has worked too damn hard earning her freedom to lose it all by getting invested in the trainwreck that is Rachel Goldberg’s mental health. 

But still Quinn finds herself watching Rachel through the monitors after they call cut for the day. 

Rachel stands still in the middle of the courtyard as the crew and suitors scatter back to reality. She seems stuck, unmoving. Quinn watches her take a step forward, then still herself again like she doesn’t know where to go. Until she turns abruptly, walks straight towards towards the bar cart and pulls out a bottle of vodka. 

And that’s the last straw for Quinn. Maybe Rachel can survive this again but for the first time in their history Quinn’s not willing to risk it; for either of them.

Rachel barely even registers Quinn’s presence in her field of vision until there’s a hand covering hers where it grasps the bottle. 

“Come on, you’re staying at my place tonight,” Quinn tells her, prying Rachel’s fingers loose of the vodka and depositing it back on the bar cart. 

“I’m fine Quinn,” Rachel replies. But she’s not even looking at Quinn, or at anything really, and it’s like she’s reading from a script, barely even conscious of saying the words. 

“No. You’re not fine. And I don’t want to turn up to work tomorrow and find you splattered somewhere on my set.” 

Rachel looks at her like she’s confused, like she wants to ask ‘why’ and Quinn recognises the look Rachel’s eyes and what it represents: the belief that your existence doesn’t - or shouldn’t - matter to another person. 

She holds Rachel’s gaze and tells her, “I want you safe Rachel, do you understand me?” 

Rachel doesn’t understand, not really, because she doesn’t really care if she’s safe herself. On the contrary there’s a perverse familiarity to feeling unsafe that is the only way she ever really feels normal. But she nods and lets Quinn lead them to her car because she has no energy left to fight. 

Rachel doesn’t say a word the entire ride to Quinn’s place and Quinn doesn’t really know what to say either.

She realises abruptly that stripped of Everlasting, stripped of the power games and accusations they lob at each other like their own twisted game of tennis, they have nothing to talk about.

All they’ve ever had is Everlasting, with the occasional interlude to yell at each other about their damage. And sure, their damage might be hanging between them heavy and awkward but for the fist time they’re trying to carry it together instead of hurling it at each other like a weapon.

And that leaves space that they don’t know how to fill. Space for the kind of normality they don’t really know how to do because their lives are so devoid of it. There’s no point trying to talk about family because Quinn has none and Rachel’s is a nightmare. There’s no point trying to talk about friends because they don’t have any (each other aside) and they don’t watch any TV other than what they twist themselves in knots to make. They have no hobbies or interests and no time to cultivate them. 

Quinn turns the radio on, flicking channels as she waits to find a song she recognises - but she doesn’t. When was the last time she even listened to music anyway? She turns the radio off again. 

Rachel doesn’t even seem to notice let alone care.

Turns out silence is less awkward than almost anything else between them. 

When Quinn pulls up outside her house Rachel doesn’t move. Quinn feels exhausted already and wonders what the fuck she’s doing, why she’s biting back the familiar impulse to just shout Rachel into submission and obedience. 

But she doesn’t. She just says, “Rachel?” quietly and when Rachel turns her head to look at her adds, “Come on,” and gets out of the car, waiting for Rachel to do the same before closing her door. 

They’re barely through the front door when Rachel says, “Which way’s the spare bedroom?” It’s matter of fact, like she’s asking something normal like where the restroom is in a restaurant, not unexpectedly spending the night at her boss’s house. 

Quinn shakes her head. “Fat chance. I’m not leaving you alone Goldie. You bunk with me tonight.” 

She expects a fight but it doesn’t come and this isn’t their normal. 

(None of this is.) 

Maybe Rachel’s just too tired or maybe she feels the same frantic tug to be near each other that Quinn’s been held captive by these past few days but it doesn’t matter either way - she just accepts it.

“Okay,” she says, “lead the way.” 

There’s a pause as Quinn waits a beat. She needs a moment to breathe. She can feel that this is some kind of turning point they won’t be able to go back from. 

And then she walks down the hall to her room, acutely aware of Rachel’s presence behind her. 

She expects Rachel to be cautious of personal space, to keep her distance. Quinn’s never allowed them to be this intimate with each other and she used to count on Rachel’s fear to keep those boundaries in place. Now it just seems to be gone, like Rachel doesn’t have the energy to be afraid anymore. 

Rachel’s far closer to the centre of the bed than the side so when Quinn slides in beside her there’s no avoiding the way their thighs brush up against each other ever so slightly. It makes Quinn want to put distance between them but there’s nowhere to go but the floor and Rachel’s breathing has already slowed to the steady pace of sleep. 

Something about seeing Rachel still in relaxation instead of frozen and comatose makes it hard for Quinn to breath. The slower Rachel breathes the faster Quinn does. Her heart rate climbs until she’s gasping for air and she’s never experienced this before. She’s always been on the other side, watching other people spiral and she hates this feeling, can’t even understand what she’s even panicking about. 

She closes her eyes but blackness doesn’t help her feel calm. 

She glances at Rachel to make sure she hasn’t woken her and for a moment she stops breathing altogether at the sight of Rachel’s face slack and strands of hair falling on her cheeks. It’s enough to break the cycle of panicked breathing for just a moment and Quinn focuses on Rachel’s breaths once more but this time finds her calm in it. She matches her breaths to Rachel’s until the panic subsides and she drifts off to sleep. 

In the middle of the night Quinn wakes and Rachel has shuffled to her side of the bed. She should be relieved to have her space back but instead she rolls over and curls an arm around Rachel’s sleeping form. 

There’s a moment where she wonders about the consequences of smashing through these boundaries but it’s hard to care with the warmth of a body next to her own. It’s a comfort she hasn’t had in a long time. She tries not to enjoy it too much, telling herself it can’t last forever. 

More than that she tries to tell herself that it’s _just_ the warmth of a body, not who the body belongs to, that fills her with this intense desire to hold on to it forever. 

In the morning Quinn wakes cold and alone again on her side of the bed. Rachel is curled up in a ball, eyes wide open and unfocused. Quinn feels her heart speed up. “Rachel? How long have you been awake?” 

The response is delayed, like everything’s reaching Rachel in slow motion. “A while,” is her monotone response and her eyes remain locked on something undefined. 

Quinn finds herself wanting to ask, _was I still holding you when you woke up_ , but can’t actually breathe out the words so instead she says, “Go have a shower, I’ll put coffee on.” 

Rachel nods but doesn’t move. 

“Rachel?” Quinn tries again. 

“Uh huh, coffee. I’ll be there soon,” Rachel says.

Quinn nods and leaves the room, hoping to hell that Rachel can actually pull herself together enough to shower without Quinn’s intervention.

She’s in luck; twenty minutes later Rachel appears in the kitchen, damp hair and yesterdays clothes but looking more alive than she did so Quinn breathes a sigh of relief as she hands Rachel a cup of coffee and goes to take her own shower. 

They drive to work in silence and for the rest of the day neither of them seeks out the other.

The crew is shutting down for the night when Quinn sweeps by.

“Let’s go Rachel,” she says curtly.

Rachel looks at her like she’s speaking another language. “What?” 

“I said let’s go, I’m tired,” Quinn snaps. She doesn’t mean to it’s just that everything about this makes her tense. Uncharted territory is something Quinn tries hard to avoid, yet here she is, completely unsure what’s gotten herself into with Rachel. 

“Go where?” Rachel responds.

Quinn rolls her eyes. Rachel knows exactly what she means; this is just a game. “Home Rachel.”

“I am home Quinn,” Rachel replies, looking past Quinn’s shoulder as she tries for nonchalance but doesn’t quite succeed. The fidgeting of her fingers gives her away. 

“Bullshit Rachel. Will you just get your stuff already and stop fighting me on this.” 

Quinn glares at her, arms crossed, just the way she does when she’s demanding that Rachel go do something ethically questionable in the name of ‘doing her job’. It’s expectant and demanding and irritating as fuck. 

“Quinn, I appreciate last night but I’m fine. I’m going back to my truck and I will see you tomorrow,” Rachel says, trying to sound in control. 

She moves to walk away but Quinn blocks her path. “Oh I’m sorry were you under the impression that last night was a one time deal kinda thing? Or in any way voluntary for that matter?” Quinn challenges.

“I’m a grown woman Quinn, I can make my own decisions.” 

Quinn smiles, but there’s no warmth to it. “Sure you can Goldberg. But just because you can doesn’t mean you make good ones.” 

Rachel rolls her eyes, “What, like you make good decisions?” she spits back but it’s more an attempt to deflect than an actual attack on Quinn. 

All the same, it hits Quinn in the stomach just a little because Rachel’s not wrong; aside from the success Everlasting created for her, most of Quinn’s life has been bad decisions. And maybe that’s the point of this whole thing - she doesn’t want Rachel to be the victim of her bad decisions anymore.

Quinn sighs. “Yeah, well I do this time and I’m not leaving you alone until I believe you’re okay.” 

There’s silence between them, eyes locked until Rachel can’t stand the discomfort anymore and turns her head. 

Here they are again, another challenge to change their status quo and the truth is Rachel doesn’t really know why she’s fighting Quinn, other than that’s what all her relationships have involved; fighting, digging her heels in, refusing to be cared for, pushing them away. It’s the only pattern she knows.

But it’s never served her well. It’s never made anyone stick around and every new person who eventually leaves just damages her more and more. She’s afraid that soon there’ll be nothing left. She’s barely a person as it is.

So for the second night in a row Rachel gives in and pretends it’s just because going head to head with Quinn has never worked out for her before. 

Not that’s it’s entirely untrue but it doesn’t account for the fact that being taken care of instead of just surviving on her own actually feels good. 

It’s also terrifying.

She feels like it might shatter her and she’s not sure she can survive breaking again. Having someone try to put you back together is a tenuous balance after all; one wrong move and you might end up more broken than before.

But Quinn makes her feel like maybe it’s worth the risk.

They play out the same scene from the night before; silent drive home, air thick with not knowing how to talk to each other. Until Rachel does something new, reaching for the radio and flicking through the channels til she finds something she likes. 

Quinn doesn't recognise it and Rachel doesn’t sing along, but she nods her head ever so slightly and at least it’s different from the night before. 

When they walk through the front door Rachel makes toward the bedroom again, just like last night but this time Quinn stops her, figuring if Rachel can change the script so can she. 

“Hold up, when did you last eat?” she asks.

Rachel shrugs, “I’m not hungry.” 

Quinn rolls her eyes. “Not what I asked and I don’t care. You’re eating,” Quinn tells her.

Rachel pulls up a kitchen stool, “Fine,” she says and Quinn tries not to let Rachel’s petulance make her feel like a mother. 

She pulls pasta from the pantry and a container of sundried tomatoes and artichokes from the fridge. Instinctively she reaches for a bottle of wine but catches herself and pulls out a pitcher of water instead. She pours a glass and slides it across the counter and turns her back to Rachel as she busies herself at the stove. 

It’s a relief not to have to look at her and Quinn quietly hates herself for feeling that way. It’s just that looking at Rachel makes her feel a whole mess of other things that she doesn’t know how to process. 

The water begins to boil and she counts the seconds to occupy her mind and fill the silence until the pasta is done. She fixes a bowl for them both and turns around again to find Rachel biting her fingers, full of the anxious energy Quinn hates so much. 

“Eat,” is all she can bring herself to say. 

And Rachel accepts that command without a fight at least. “This is good,” she mumbles, mouth full of pasta. 

“Don’t act so surprised,” Quinn tosses back. 

“Don’t act like it shouldn’t be one!” Rachel retorts. “You spend most of your life in the studio and the rest of it fucking idiots like Chet or being wined and dined by rich assholes. Figured you probably hadn’t cooked for yourself in years,” she shrugs.

It’s flippant and far from the cruellest thing Rachel’s ever said to her but somehow it stings. Maybe Rachel’s forgotten that Quinn’s been alone for the past eight months. Or that the fifteen years before it had been spent in a relationship with a man who went home to his wife at the end of each day. Or that her childhood had basically involved keeping her alcoholic father alive and taking care of herself at the same time. 

(Although maybe Rachel didn’t know that last one. It’s hard to remember sometimes whether they actually know each other at all.)

“It’s pasta, it’s not rocket science,” Quinn snaps. And then adds, “I’m taking a fucking shower, put the dishes away when you’re done,” for good measure. Rachel can eat alone for all she cares.

When she slips into bed half an hour later, Rachel’s already there. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I didn’t mean to be an asshole.” 

Quinn sighs, she doesn’t have the energy to be angry. “Forget it. We’re both assholes. Hard habit to break.”

They lie in silence for a minute til Quinn says, more softly, “Go to sleep Goldberg.” 

Rachel doesn’t reply but Quinn feels the body next to her relax and so she lets herself do the same. 

Somehow it’s easier to let go of all the tension she carries with Rachel in bed beside her. 

And what a strange, unexpected truth that is. 

Quinn finds Rachel alone in the editing bay. “You ready?” she asks.

“It’s 7pm,” Rachel replies.

“So?” 

“So… there’s still work to do. And you never leave this early,” she says confused. 

“Yeah well you need to spend less time here and it wouldn’t hurt me either so let’s go,” Quinn says, turning around and walking to the door. 

Rachel doesn’t move and Quinn feels her irritation rising. “I said let’s go Rachel.”

“God Quinn why are you doing this,” Rachel demands. 

“Because. You need someone to take care of you and I don’t trust anyone else,” she answers. It’s more honest than anything else she’s ever said to Rachel before. She’s too tired for falsehoods anymore.

“I don’t need anyone to take care of me,” Rachel says, teeth clenched.

“Yes you do Rachel,” Quinn yells and Rachel never expected that. Especially because Quinn’s outburst isn’t really anger, like Rachel is used to. It’s almost like fear. 

Quinn’s actually shaking a little and if Rachel didn’t know better she’d swear that Quinn was blinking back tears. But Quinn doesn’t do tears and she doesn’t indulge feelings or Rachel’s mental health. 

“For fuck’s sake Rachel when are you gonna get that I care about you.” She shakes her head and Rachel recognises that gesture. It’s the universal sign for, I _’m done with you_ and she’s seen on it every person she’s ever remotely cared about. 

But then Quinn pulls herself up and takes a breath.

“I’m done standing by while you self destruct. And before you say it, I know, I’ve done more than just stand by before, I have helped you do it. But not this time Rachel. No more band-aids fixes, or pretending that you’re fine when you’re not. I don’t care how long it takes, we are doing this together until you are at least some semblance of what I consider healthy and stable again.”

Rachel wants to argue, defend herself against what feels like an insult but honestly what’s the point? Quinn’s not wrong; she’s a mess, always has been. It’s just that she’s spent years convincing herself that it can’t change, that she can’t change, that her life is just going to be surviving. On her own. Because up until this point her choices have been confined to consistently falling apart and fucking up her life, or hospitalisations and an ever-changing rotation of drugs and diagnoses set to a soundtrack of her mother telling her how broken she is. 

But this? Quinn taking her home at a reasonable hour, telling her to shower and feeding her real food? (She pretends that sharing a bed doesn’t factor into this at all.) It’s the best option she’s had. Ever. So maybe the smart thing to do is stop fighting what’s being offered right now and damn the consequences. 

“Okay,” she says quietly. 

“Okay,” Quinn echoes. 

And for the third night in a row they go home together and Rachel sleeps through the night while Quinn lies awake next to her trying to drown out out the messy truths that are no longer content to be silent.

Rachel stops sleeping in the truck altogether and slowly begins to adjust to the fact that her new normal is going home with this new version of Quinn each night. 

This new Quinn who cooks for her, who spoons her through the night in her own bed, who bites back the acerbic comments she used to revel in handing out, who no longer makes jokes at the expense of Rachel’s mental health but is suddenly deeply serious about taking care of it. 

She goes home with a Quinn King who is inexplicably more gentle and soft than Rachel ever knew she could be. 

But they don’t talk about this shift in their relationship and what it might mean or where it might lead. 

So of course it happens out of nowhere; the kind of nowhere that isn’t actually nowhere but is actually the coalescence of a thousand tiny moments that have all been leading to this exact conclusion - they are better together than apart. 

It’s Quinn who kisses Rachel first.

And neither of them would ever have predicted that it would be.

The moment before it happens there’s a vulnerability in Rachel’s eyes that makes Quinn uncertain. This thing has been building for weeks (years) and she wants it. But she’s afraid of the dynamic between them. Afraid that she’s taking advantage of Rachel in a fragile state. Afraid that it’s an abuse of power.

She knows what that’s like.

Maybe most of all, afraid that she only has the capacity to ruin people. 

And the whole time they’ve been doing this Rachel hasn’t made a move, hasn’t thrown herself at Quinn the way she has with every other person who’s tried to play saviour with her. 

Which is not what Quinn’s doing she tells herself. But it’s hard not to wonder, not to question every move she makes for manipulative or self serving motives because that’s who she is right? It’s certainly who everyone tells her she is. She doesn’t want to be Rachel’s saviour; she wants to be her solace. That’s different right? 

It’s probably no less selfish but at least it’s not outright predatory.

It happens like this.

One night Rachel’s standing next to her while Quinn cooks and she turns to reach for the pepper but slams into Rachel who’s holding out the pepper grinder in her hand and all of a sudden Quinn can’t stand it anymore. 

She can’t move or speak or breathe because Rachel is inches away from her and all Quinn can think about is kissing her. 

“What?” Rachel asks and Quinn doesn’t think, just replies, pure honesty, “I want to kiss you. But I don’t know if I should. I mean, I don’t know if I can. It’s that’s okay. If that’s something you want.” 

“Why?” Rachel asks, and Quinn sees that question for what it is again: _why would you want anything from me. I don’t matter. I’m nothing._

“Because I do. I don’t have a better answer than that Rachel. I just…I want to kiss you.” It’s the most vulnerable Quinn can remember being since childhood and she hates the way it feels. 

“So do it,” Rachel replies. It’s matter of fact and her face is unreadable and it scares Quinn. Sometimes Rachel acts like you could do anything at all to her and she’d just let you. Quinn knows the kind of self loathing and absolute lack of self worth it takes to make someone that way. 

“That’s not…” Quinn stumbles over the words. “Rachel you don’t have to…” she pauses, searching for the right words. “This isn’t something for you to just go along with because you think you owe somebody something. You don’t owe me this. Or anything,” Quinn emphasises that last point. 

“I know,” she shrugs. 

“So why…” 

Rachel cuts her off. “Because I _want_ you to kiss me Quinn.” 

And this time when Quinn looks at her she sees something on Rachel’s face that’s brand new. Honesty. Vulnerability. Certainty. 

“Tell me again. Make me sure this is okay,” Quinn says as she steps a little closer.

Rachel closes what little distance there is left between them. “Quinn. I want you to kiss me.” 

So she does. 

And then Rachel kisses her back. 

And then they’re kissing each other and the only question they have is how they’re ever going to stop. 

They do though of course because eventually they run out of air and they become aware of just how long they’ve been standing and that much their legs will not hold them up much longer.

“We should finish dinner,” Quinn says, still trying to regain her equilibrium and control over her breathing. 

Rachel just nods and Quinn turns back to food prep and the silence is full and expectant but not uncomfortable and it stays that way until they’re both finished and usually this would be the time when Quinn goes to shower and Rachel settles into bed before her.

“Maybe you should sleep in the spare room tonight,” Quinn ventures. 

Rachel shakes her head vehemently. “Uh uh, no way Quinn. You started this, you told me we were doing this together, you got me hooked on sharing a bed with you. So I don’t know what this is exactly, but we will figure it out and I’m not taking a step backwards.”

“Okay,” Quinn smiles. Not just because she gets to fall asleep next to Rachel knowing that kissing is now firmly _on_ the table, but because for the first time in weeks Rachel hasn’t just been a malleable shell of a person for Quinn to move around. 

For the first time in weeks Rachel’s playing an active role in her own life and Quinn’s never been so relieved. 

It’s heady this new thing between them but there’s caution there too. They don’t kiss in bed though Quinn still spoons her through the night.

Rachel gets dressed in the bathroom instead of walking around in a towel like she used to. 

They know it’s going to explode soon but they’re trying, oh so hard, to make sure it doesn’t burn them when it does.

“I’m gonna go take a shower,” Rachel tells hers and Quinn nods, “Okay.” And then, steps closer, puts her hands in Rachel’s hair and kisses her slowly. 

It’s not meant to be torture; but it is. 

Quinn doesn’t realise how sexy it is when she swears and suddenly Rachel is hyper aware of every time Quinn says the word ‘fuck’. Which is often. 

It’s not meant to be torture; but it is. 

They stand side by side in the editing bay, watching as the Suitress makes out with the current object of her affection and hands begin to roam and clothes begin to be removed and this is all great footage for the show. 

Rachel subconsciously licks her lips and Quinn clears her throat and says she’s got stuff to do. 

It shouldn’t be torture; but it is. 

Quinn struggles with the zip on a new dress, can’t quite twist her arm behind her enough and she’s quietly cursing her body for betraying her this way because she got it on just fine by herself this morning. 

“Here, let me help you.” Rachel’s voice takes her by surprise. 

But the way her whole body tingles at the feel of Rachel behind her, drawing the zipper down her back, doesn’t surprise her at all. She’s been alight since the moment Rachel lay her head in her lap and it’s been smouldering ever since. 

“Rachel stop.” 

“Why.”

“Because.” She chokes on the words because her zip is undone but now Rachel’s finger is trailing it’s way back up her spine. 

“Why,” Rachel persists, whispering it directly into her ear while her hand is splayed across the back of Quinn’s neck. 

“Because if you don’t stop I won’t be able to,” she breathes out. Rachel’s free hand is on her waist now and her body is pressed up against Quinn’s. 

“Good,” Rachel tells her and pulls away abruptly. 

And for a second Quinn thinks it’s all been a game, but then Rachel’s hands are pushing Quinn’s dress off her shoulder’s and it drops to the floor, leaving Quinn naked but for her underwear and her heels. 

She breathes out and then Rachel’s hands are on her bare stomach and her lips are on her neck and Quinn gasps for breath all over again. 

It’s not like sex with Chet, or Adam, or Coleman, or August. They’re both so practised at getting off on dicks at this point that it’s not like it’s ever taken much; getting off with the men in their lives might as well have been just another task to tick off the to do list. It was efficient. 

This is nothing like that.

They don’t know each other’s bodies yet and it’s different because it’s not just about getting off. But now there’s no hurry. It’s not an urgent release to get through the day’s stresses; it’s something else entirely, more sentimental than they’re used to. It’s about the way everything feels so much clearer. Every touch, every kiss, Rachel’s tongue on Quinn’s nipple, Rachel’s clit under Quinn’s thumb. It’s like sex in HD when they’ve been so used to blurry analog recordings that they’d forgotten how this is supposed to feel. 

It’s the revelry in the buildup of pleasure, in the high of each other that it doesn’t actually matter if they come tonight or not. 

They will later.

For now the newness of exploration is more than enough. 

It’s better than they could even have imagined.

For a day or two they just bask in this new freedom. 

Rachel kisses her in the morning in bed and they grope like horny teenagers until Quinn pulls away and begrudgingly declares that they have to get to work. 

And at the end of the night when Rachel says she’s going to take a shower, Quinn lasts all of 30 seconds after the water turns on before she’s stripping and stepping under the spray to press a kiss to smirking lips and run a hand her hands all over wet skin. 

And when Quinn wakes at 3am she finds Rachel, eyes open locked on hers, there’s no need for words, their lips find each other and it’s hard and fast and loud. They drift back to sleep, sweat still drying on their skin, legs still tangled together. 

But air between them shifts at work because how could it not? 

It’s Maddison of all people that notices it and manages to send Rachel spiralling. She throws out some snide comment about how Rachel’s obviously Quinn’s favourite again and that everyone else gets screwed over because of it. No one’s even listening to her but Rachel leaves the control room abruptly. 

No one else notices but Quinn does so she follows her out to the courtyard and barks, “Rachel, my office, now,” just in case anyone actually is perceptive enough to recognise the emotion in the air between them. 

Rachel sinks to the floor behind the closed door, hands over her face, and violently sobs.

“Why are you letting Maddison get to you?” Quinn huffs, irritated even though she doesn’t want to be. 

“This is what it will be like, all the time, when they find out,” Rachel cries.

“When they find out what?” Quinn asks, crouching down in front of her, precarious on her heels.

“Us!” Rachel says, uncovering her face as she gesticulates. “I’m the new Chet, I’ll be an absolute joke. Nothing I do here will ever be considered earned. Ever.” 

As if the physical act of crouching in her heels isn’t enough, the idea that Rachel thinks of herself as Chet is more than enough to knock Quinn off balance. She sinks to the ground, legs to the side and pencil skirt hiked up her thighs as a result. 

“Whoa, hold the fuck up Rachel,” she says. “You are not Chet. And there’s no reason anyone here has to know anything about us. I don’t know why you thought they would.” 

Rachel looks at her with a disdain that stings. “God I don’t know Quinn, because you used to have sex in your office with Chet every day. It’s not like you ever kept your personal life seperate before.” 

“So you think I’m dumb enough to make that mistake again? Fuck no. This is none of anyone’s business Rachel and I have no intention of making it public knowledge.” 

Rachel doesn’t reply, just bites her lip as fresh tears well over to stream down her face. 

Quinn swipes a tear away. “It’s not a big deal Rachel, it’s fine.”

“No it’s not. It’s completely stupid.” Rachel shakes her head.

“What is?” Quinn pushes.

“You and me.” 

Quinn doesn’t know how to respond.

“I mean how broken would you have to be to want me?” Rachel stares her in the eyes.

“I don’t know,” Quinn sighs, shrugging her shoulder. “Does it matter?” 

At this Rachel looks away. 

“I _am_ broken Rachel,” Quinn tells her firmly. “And I _do_ want you. What does that change?” she challenges.

Rachel just shakes her head. She doesn’t have an answer, she just knows that every fibre of her being screams at her that she doesn’t deserve this, that she should prove to Quinn she’s not worth it. 

“Does it change how you feel when I do this?” she asks, sliding a hand across Rachel’s cheek. 

Rachel doesn’t respond.

“Does it change how you feel when I do this?” She moves her hand from Rachel’s cheek now, tucking hair behind her ear and trailing her fingers down Rachel’s neck before leaning in and kissing her softly. 

“Stop it,” Rachel sobs, breaking the kiss and pushing Quinn’s hand away. 

“Why,” Quinn demands.

“Because I don’t deserve you,” Rachel yells. 

“I don’t care,” Quinn yells back. “God Rachel no one would ever get to be happy if we played by those rules. We’re all shitty human beings - and yes some of us are far worse than others. I’m sure I don’t deserve you either. But it’s not about what we deserve.” 

“What then?” Rachel asks, voice small. “How do you justify being with me?”

“Jesus Rachel, I don’t _justify_ it. I just choose it. That’s all.” 

“But why. It doesn’t make sense.” 

“It doesn’t have to. It never does. You think Chet made sense?” she throws her hands up on the air. “But I chose it anyway, mistake or not. Now I’m asking you to let me choose you.” 

And this time Quinn breaks. Her voice shakes and her mouth tightens against the quiver of her lip that she so desperately wants to hide and there are tears welling that she won’t let fall so refuses to blink and just stares Rachel down. 

“Just let me choose you Rachel.”

Rachel nods and shakes her head at the same time; she wants this and she’s so fucking scared of it and it’s war inside her head but she lets the part of her that wants win. “Okay,” she finally says and leans into Quinn’s arms, burying her face in Quinn’s shirt and just cries.

Quinn strokes the back of Rachel’s head, whispering, “That’s my girl,” and holds her til she’s done. 

After that they try to bite down their obvious happiness just a little bit more at work. 

There’s even more reason to protect it now. 

So it’s an accident really. Neither of them set out to deliberately create a facade of hostility between them. It’s just that Quinn loses her temper one day, yells at everyone, yells at _Rachel_ and Maddison mutters, “Guess she’s not so protected after all,” and Quinn sees the smirk that rises ever so briefly on Rachel’s lips. 

She likes the deception. 

And Quinn likes the smirk on Rachel’s lips. 

“Goldberg. My office. Now.” 

And this time, behind that closed door there’s no crying. Instead there’s Quinn’s body pushing Rachel into the door as she kisses her ferociously, working one hand between Rachel’s thighs and the other under her shirt. 

Turns out they get high off the drama. (As if that’s a surprise.)

And the drama? Makes them even hornier than ever. 

That, they didn’t think was possible.

It quickly becomes a game of course.

Quinn looks for excuses to drag Rachel while the crew look on, practically biting their nails as they wait for the last straw to break. 

And Rachel plays it up oh so well, tears welling in her eyes, mumbling desperate apologies, all the while waiting for the moment they can sneak into Quinn’s office, or the nearest bathroom, or an empty room in the mansion, to tear each other’s clothes off and laugh at how completely gullible their entire crew is. 

They’ll all believe anything if you make a show out of it and that’s Quinn and Rachel’s specialty right? It’s so much easier than it should be. 

They’re a little more careful about being seen leaving in the same car together but no one even seems to notice that Rachel’s no longer sleeping in a truck on set. She should be offended but she can’t be bothered to care what anyone else thinks of her - or if they even do at all - anymore; all she has room for right now is Quinn. 

But the high of deception is unsustainable. They both should have known that. 

And playing with Rachel’s feelings, no matter how much the game turns them on, could never be harmless.

Another day, another performance, another turning point Quinn doesn’t see coming. 

“Just get out Rachel,” Quinn spits at her. “Come back when you can actually be some use to me.” 

And Rachel leaves without a word. 

When Quinn swans into her office, she’s beaming with glee, completely high on it all, only to find Rachel lying on her couch eyes fixed to the ceiling. 

“Did you see the look on their faces? I think they actually thought I was going to fire you this time, I’ve never seen them so nervous,” Quinn laughs as she pushes Rachel’s legs up to make room for herself on the couch but Rachel doesn't respond, doesn’t reach for Quinn.

“Rachel?” Quinn probes. “Come on, that was hilarious. What’s wrong.” 

“It wasn’t funny this time,” she says quietly. 

Quinn pauses. “What, why?” she asks. 

“I don’t know. It just wasn’t. I felt…” Rachel’s voice catches, unwilling to finish the sentence.

“What Rach?” Quinn prompts, voice uncharacteristically soft. 

“I felt like your secret. I felt...worthless.” 

“Hey, you know it’s just for show. And you know you’re not my secret. I just wanted to protect us from the bullshit. I thought that’s what you wanted too? You didn’t want everyone to know about us and make assumptions about you,” Quinn reminds her.

“I know. I just didn’t like it today. It’s fine, it’s not a big deal,” Rachel says with a shrug, but Quinn recognises the vacant look in her eyes, the one that says she’s dissociating because being in her feelings is too much for her. 

“Come here,” Quinn says quietly, perching on the edge of the couch and pulling Rachel up until she’s sitting. 

Quinn looks her directly in the eyes. “You’re the opposite of worthless Rachel. You’re everything.” 

Rachel nods and kisses Quinn quickly but the shadow doesn’t leave her eyes.

Quinn stops playing the game. 

But Rachel remains distant. 

She’s jumpy when Quinn snaps at people, even though it’s not her. 

So Quinn stops snapping at people. 

But Rachel still remains distant.

She curls up in a ball on her side of the bed and pretends to be asleep when Quinn slides in next to her at night.

But Quinn hears the catch in her breathing, recognises the tension in her back that means she’s still very much awake. 

Rachel let’s Quinn fuck her but slides away from tender touch; untangles their hands when Quinn laces her fingers with Rachel’s, speeds up when Quinn walks beside her and retreats into one word answers when Quinn tries to talk to her. 

It’s like they’re on rewind.

They started with Rachel coming to her, wholly unexpected, and bridging a distance between them they’d cultivated for years. 

Now it feels they’re going to end with Rachel pulling further and further away until they can no longer even see each other.

It creates a panic in Quinn that’s like nothing she’s ever felt before.

Quinn starts calling therapists until she finds one who isn't afraid to explicitly say that working for a reality show like Everlasting would completely contravene their ethics and duty of care and no amount of money will sway them.

She files the name and number away for later. 

It’s ironic really how Maddison somehow manages to be the catalyst for all the biggest changes in Quinn’s life. If Quinn were a different kind of person she might even thank her for it.

(But she’s not.)

Maddison barely even pretends to whisper, telling Jay, “See I told you she’s lost it, she hasn’t yelled at Rachel in days. She hasn’t yelled at _anyone_ in days. She's totally gone soft. Quinn King has gone bye bye.” 

It’s the way Maddison laughs that does it; before Quinn has time to even think about she’s yelling at the whole crew.

“Okay listen up you pathetic morons. Rachel and I are dating and we have been for months now. So you can all stop thinking you’re so smart or that you know anything about us at all. And before you get all gossip happy and start placing bets, here’s a tip straight from me: you’re not going to see me with anyone else for a long time. Hopefully ever. Because I am, completely, pathetically,” she pauses, rolls her eyes and articulates exaggeratedly, “Everlastingly in love with her. So get the fuck over it and get back to work.” 

She doesn't bother staying to see their reactions. Turns out she honestly doesn’t give a flying fuck. 

It doesn’t take long for Rachel to slip into her office. 

“You didn’t have to do that.” Rachel says quietly. 

“Yes I did,” Quinn counters, like she’s daring Rachel to challenge her on this point. 

She doesn’t though, just steps closer to Quinn, hands finding her waist.

“We’re dating?” Rachel ventures.

“Aren’t we?” Quinn replies and her face actually betrays her genuine shock that the question needs to be asked. 

Rachel nods slightly, content to just let the moment slide on by, as she takes a breath and says, “It’s not pathetic to love someone Quinn.” 

“Yeah,” Quinn breaths out. It’s a harder belief to shake than it should be but there’s a real part of her, the part that she’s so willingly been giving Rachel these past few months, that knows it’s true. 

“Scary as hell though,” she tells Rachel honestly. 

“Yeah. It is,” Rachel replies. 

Quinn smiles because honestly? This is enough. She doesn’t need anything more from Rachel in this moment than her acceptance that she is loved. That _Quinn King_ loves her. She just wants to give that to Rachel and she’s surprised to find it’s such a relief to give, without expecting something in return. 

But Rachel blindsides her without a beat, “I love you too Quinn.” 

And the smile threatens to break her face. 

At home that night, lying in bed, Rachel lies with her head low on Quinn’s stomach while Quinn’s fingers play in her hair. Her own hands trace patterns on the top of Quinn’s thigh.

Quinn’s voice is low and slow when she says, “Hey Rach.” 

“Mmm,” Rachel murmurs in reply, content and calm. 

“What do you think about trying therapy. For real, with someone who’s not an idiot hack.”

Rachel breathes in, feels panic take hold a little. “Why?” she asks.

“Because I think you deserve to heal and to hear a professional tell you that none of it was your fault, that you deserved better than your mother, that you don’t have to punish yourself forever. That you can be happy.”

She breathes in again, closing her eyes and focussing on the feel of Quinn’s fingers in her hair and her patient breath, waiting for Rachel to be ready. 

“Okay,” Rachel says. 

“Okay,” Quinn echoes. 

They lie in silence for a moment and then Rachel speaks. 

“Quinn. When you said you were ‘ _Everlastingly_ ’ in love with me, what did you mean because I’d hardly consider any of the love stories on this show to be a ringing endorsement for healthy relationships.” 

“You’re right, they’re fucking trainwrecks,” Quinn laughs. “I don’t know, I didn’t really mean the _reality_ of the relationships, I guess I meant the image we sell to the audience.” 

“So you’re saying we’re just a shiny facade of love?” Rachel presses, mostly teasing but with the slightest hint of genuine questioning in her voice. 

Quinn reaches for her, pulling her up so they’re face to face. 

“What I _mean_ , if you’ll let me get there Goldberg, is that I know what happens on our show isn’t real. But maybe deep down I’ve always believed that the image we sell is based in reality. I mean, _actual real love_ was the inspiration for the show. And what people _see_ , and choose to believe in when they watch - well that’s how I feel about you, about us. It’s some kind of fairytale - with a huge helping of fucked up underneath, sure. But I am 100% okay with that.” 

“I’m some kind of fairytale?” Rachel asks.

“Damn right you are Goldberg,” Quinn answers her seriously, and her eyes don’t leave Rachel’s for a second. “You’re magic,” she says with a finger gently stroking Rachel’s cheek. “Always have been.” 

“‘Well I’m yours,” Rachel replies. “Always have been, always will be.”

“Sounds fucking perfect,” Quinn tells her. 

It starts in grief, in trauma, in need.

But it ends with — well, actually, it doesn’t end. 

That’s the definition of everlasting after all.


End file.
